


Drive

by wingsdestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, POV Dean Winchester, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsdestiel/pseuds/wingsdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were just stupid enough to hope there'd be a silver lining in all of this, that by becoming this awful thing you'd finally escape the feelings that have churned inside you for years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive

You don't realize you're angry until you're flying down the 281, watching the light from the Impala's headlights spill out over the endless road. You're supposed to be as dead as that asphalt, at least on the inside, but you still feel all too alive. You look in the rearview, blinking again, just to check, even though you've already checked a hundred times. Black eyes. And yet your mind is racing just like it always has been, and the silly things you love are tugging on your heartstrings, trying to get you to turn the car around. So what gives?

This isn't right. You should've traded this piece of junk in for something faster and less conspicuous, handed the key over without so much as a flinch and rocketed out of some used car lot in something your brother would never expect. You thought about it, sure, but then a funny thing happened. You didn't want to give her up. The thought of it made your stomach clench. So you just got on the highway.

But that's just the thing. You don't really care if your brother catches you, do you? He's not going to kill you, not even if he plans on it now. When he catches up to you, he'll start, maybe throw a few punches, but once you start talking he'll know it's still you in there. He'll hate himself for it, but he'll put down his weapon and make you promise to stay with him while the two of you figure things out. Then he'll fly right back into that passenger seat like he's got a magnet in his ass, and you'll drive off into the sunset, black eyes or no.

But why should you want that? He should be nothing to you. He's not useful to you now. You have no use for family, for sentimentality. He'll try to slow you down when you want something, or stop you, if his high horse is high enough. You glance at the empty seat next to you, and feel another twinge of guilt seep out of your chest and settle in your gut. When you first opened your eyes and you knew what you were, your first thought was that it would tear Sam apart. You thought maybe that was just an echo of your humanity, holding on after death, that it would pass, but that thought is still with you and it still hurts. For being dead, your body is wide awake and acting pretty human, at least at the moment. You wish it would stop and just let you go numb. That's what this was supposed to be like, right? The moment right before you black out from too much whiskey, when you can't feel much of anything. 

That's not what this feels like. This feels like the next morning when you can feel everything, when you can feel too much, your sweaty palm sliding down the side of the toilet bowl, your pulse in your knees where they're crushed against the cold tile, the bile burning your throat on its way up.

The thing with your brother isn't even the worst of it. Sure, your first thought was about him, but your second thought was about Cas. How this would hurt him. And then your third thought was that maybe you'd be free from the emotional hurricane that seemed to materialize inside your chest wherever Cas was concerned, that you could finally look into those stupid blue eyes and feel nothing, or, better yet, feel nothing if you never looked into them again. You thought maybe you wouldn't have to love him anymore, and that was a relief. But now you have to force yourself to keep steady pressure on the gas pedal, because if you stop thinking about it for even a second, you slow down to fifteen miles an hour and think about pulling over to call him. You want to know that he's okay. That's all.

But even if he's okay right now, he probably won't be soon. He needs a 1-up. And if he needs help to get it, a demon might come in handy. Or maybe that's just what you're telling yourself, because you're terrified that if he knows what you are now, he won't want you anymore. You'll be disposable. Like he's supposed to be to you. What good is it being a demon if you can still feel?

You know you're a special case, that the goddamn mark probably has something to do with you being the most pathetic, human demon you've ever heard of. But you're still angry. You were just stupid enough to hope there'd be a silver lining in all of this, that by becoming this awful thing you'd finally escape the feelings that have churned inside you for years. Your long-dead father's words bounce around inside your skull: "You can't afford attachments, not with this job. So whatever you think you're feeling, push it down or it'll kill you." You know you've repeated those words yourself, to other hunters and probably to your brother. And you believed them then. But now they're transparent, and what you see on the other side is that everyone has attachments, and sometimes that's what'll kill you, but sometimes what kills you is pretending. Pretending you don't have attachments. Sure, you can shut your eyes and imagine you've never cared for anyone but yourself, but in the end, everybody sees somebody's face when they die. Everybody screams somebody's name, or whispers it one last time, or reaches out for somebody's hand. And you know you're already dead, but this feels like dying, and even though you haven't said a word since you woke up, in your head you're screaming out for Sam and for Cas. But they can't hear you.

You keep driving.


End file.
